


Ecstasy

by Fatal_in_Fillory



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Blood, Choking, Literally I don't know science y'all, M/M, Made Up Science, Mid-RE5, PWP, Plot What Plot, Porn, Resident Evil 5, Smut, drug, not consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatal_in_Fillory/pseuds/Fatal_in_Fillory
Summary: Chris Redfield finds himself at Wesker's mercy and the drug he was injected with is suddenly making him much more okay with Wesker's actions.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94





	Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).



> TWO YEARS. That's how long I've owed Mistress this oneshot. Hot damn. If I owe anyone else, please let me know! These past few years have been a mess. Also any requests can be sent to me directly or in a comment. Always looking for new ideas!

Leaking grey walls and flicking lights from above were growing old to Chris. The brunet questioned anxiously exactly how long had he been here but the answer never came. The window to the outside world was small and high above the floor and as much as he tried to keep track of the days, his sleeping was off and he often found himself waking up at random times. Chris also found that, from what he could tell, nobody was watching him. Occasionally, he would awaken to a plate of _something_ on the inside of the cell and after the first few days, Chris learned to eat it.

A cot in the corner was Chris’ normal spot. He often sat or laid there as he questioned just why he wasn’t being rescued. He entered the mission with Sheva by his side but where was she now? Why wasn’t the BSAA sending out squads to help? If Jill were alive, he knew she wouldn’t rest until he was found—like he should have done.

Thick iron bars stopped him from leaving the cell but the room beyond the bars was painfully dark. He never caught anyone coming through but he could hear mumbling and distant talking when the outside sounds were quiet enough. He tried to yell for the first few days but he grew exhausted and often would splash water on his face from the broken (but working) sink in the corner of the room.

The floor was dirt and he was sure he was still in Africa-- The heat was almost impossible but being stripped of his weapons and gear made it easier to deal with. He would often remove his t shirt and pants in attempt to clean them, and himself, in the sink but without soap he felt it was never really enough and, he realized dirt was much like sand in the fact that it was _everywhere_.

Chris found himself musing over how he ended up in this situation more often than not and came to the conclusion that he was getting too close to the truth. He and Sheva were on a trail that would lead him straight to where he needed to be—where so many answers would finally reveal themselves. And then when the Kijuju residents overwhelmed them—well, here he was.

* * *

Antsy was an understatement—Chris was miserable. His legs ached from the lack of movement, his stomach ached for actual food, his mouth was dry from lack of talking, and he was beginning to wish for death. He stopped counting at around eight days, maybe nine? He didn’t even know. The lights went out around day six and he was now left in a deep, impenetrable darkness once night arose.

The brunet would lie in said darkness and listen to the rustling outside of animals and _other_ things, he was sure. Chris would sometimes find his cheeks wet but he never remembers crying—he was just helpless and Christopher Redfield was not good in helpless situations.

Chris was a strong individual without a doubt and he was talented and skilled in ways others simply weren’t—but Chris wasn’t the most mentally capable person as of late. Losing Jill was his breaking point, really, and he had begun to question leaving the BSAA. Jill deserved more than what they gave—more than what he gave.

* * *

Tutting sounds from the shadows beyond his prison bars woke Chris. The noise was different from the usual sounds he heard putting him on immediate alarm. Chris shot up so fast that he was sure his pained back was strained as he jumped out of bed, barefoot on the dirt. Squinting into the darkness in an attempt to make out the distant humanoid figure barely visible, Chris remained at the ready.

“Hello, Christopher,” the smooth, dark voice came from the darkness.

A chill stricken Christopher tilted his head in confusion—the voice struck a nerve somewhere deep within him. He recognized the voice, he was sure of it, but until the tall blond stepped into the little moon light streaming through the window and the cracks in the wall, Chris was at a loss.

And then, suddenly, rage was coursing through his veins that only intensified at the sight of the blond smirking.

Albert Wesker stood in front of him, arms crossed tightly over the black leather jacket that covered his torso. If Chris squinted even harder, he could probably see the blond’s sunglasses atop his nose and—of course—hiding his monstrous eyes.

Those eyes haunted Chris when he dreamt of Jill late at night.

“Wesker!” Chris growled, shoving himself against the bars, “I should have known.”

Chris’ fists tightened around the bars when Wesker’s deep chuckle filled the room and Chris sneered at the sound when Wesker stepped forward again, ever so slightly easier to make out in the darkness. Rustling from beyond the darkness pulled Chris’ attention giving Wesker the opportunity to slide a long thin needle through the bars and into Chris’ neck with his impossible reflexes.

Chris pulled back as quickly as possible, hand grasping at his neck but he felt the pinch—he was well aware what was happening when his vision blurred and he lost his standing.

* * *

The first feeling Chris experienced upon waking up was cold. He could feel air against his torso and thighs and knew almost immediately he wasn’t wearing clothes though his dark briefs clung to his hips. He groaned at the pain that struck him when he attempted to sit up—eyes struggling to open and adjust in the bright lights above him. He pulled at his wrists and realized they were tied down—same with his legs—and he shook his head to force his eyes open.

The metallic slab he was on was uncomfortable but the giant bubbling tubes around the room made him significantly more uncomfortable. Everything was shiny—new—compared to the cell he was in previously and metallic. So metallic, in fact, that he could hear distant approaching steps echoing through the square room he found himself in.

“He’s awake,” a woman’s voice could be heard and Chris pulled at the restraints, harder this time.

“Good,” Wesker’s voice purred and Chris fought the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Chris’ wrists burned by the time Wesker entered the room. The straps must have been a type of leather that held him painfully still against the cold, hard table.

“Enjoy your rest, Chris?” Wesker asked smoothly.

Chris ignored him.

“The only reason I’m tied up, Wesker, is because you know I would best you,” Chris hissed at the blond.

Wesker laughed—loud and dark.

“Oh Christopher,” the blond sighed.

Chris’ eyes fell on the briefcase the blond carried and felt a sense of dread overcome him.

“I must admit, when you were discovered unconscious, I found myself questioning whether I should kill you,” Wesker said absentmindedly as he set the briefcase on a small metallic table with wheels.

“You should have,” Chris shot.

Wesker smirked, “I almost did,” he assured. “However, a colleague suggested a significantly more useful option for you and I must say, I now agree with her.”

Chris was quiet as Wesker unhooked the case and opened it carefully—Chris couldn’t see the contents but he could imagine.

“Sir,” a voice came from the doorway and Chris twisted to look, eyes falling on a cloaked thin figure.

“Oh, a family reunion,” Wesker mocked quietly towards Chris before turning fully towards the figure, “Yes, Jill?”

Chris’ body froze.

“The female prisoner is beginning to wake,” she spoke, voice distorted through the mask she wore.

“Jill?” Chris asked and the figure’s head tilted slightly before turning her attention fully to Wesker.

Wesker chuckled darkly.

“Inform Excella to inject her again. We have some work to do in here, first,” Wesker answered, smirking down at the brunet who refused to take his eyes off of Jill.

“Jill, can you hear me?” Chris tried again but Jill simply nodded to Wesker and disappeared from the doorway.

“What did you do to her?” Chris growled towards Wesker, whipping his head fast enough to see the syringe injecting into his wrist.

“The virus dormant within her is easily controlled,” Wesker stated, setting the now empty syringe back in the case. His gloved fingers came to rest on the injection point and Chris pulled violently from him. “Unfortunately,” Wesker continued, “The same cannot be said for someone who has not been infected previously. The antibodies within her cannot be easily replicated and the woman can only give so much of her blood per day.” Wesker’s fingers traced down Chris’ upturned wrist, spreading the smallest bit of blood that had trailed from Chris’ wound to the leather strap holding Chris’ left wrist.

“What did you inject in me?” Chris asked as heat began to spread from his arm to his neck and his upper chest.

Wesker chuckled and continued.

“Hormones, however, have similar properties when manipulated ever so slightly and can be easily commanded by simple suggestions,” Wesker spoke and released Chris’ wrist swiftly from its bonds.

Chris sprang to life, ignoring the increasing warmth that pooled in his cheeks and dipped into his stomach. Wesker carefully removed his sunglasses and watched with a boorish gaze as Chris unbuckled his trapped hand and moved to his legs quickly. By the time Chris rolled from the table, he stumbled slightly and leaned heavily on the chilled surface.

Chris’ skin burned and itched. He found himself gasping heavily—panting as the cool air around him caressed his skin. A growl escaped his throat once the heat spreading through his body arrived to the head of his cock, trapped just under the thin fabric of his briefs. He ached to release his erection but Wesker’s eyes bore into him and he attempted painfully to stop himself by gripping the edges of the table hard.

Jill’s alive, he reasoned. Beyond what exactly Wesker’s plan was, Chris clung to the idea that Jill was very alive and he was positive Sheva was the other prisoner.

Wesker’s tight smirk remained on his lips as he glided slowly towards the brunet and captured Chris’ chin in his palm, lifting Chris’ head to meet his gaze directly. Chris’ knees were ready to buckle at Wesker’s touch and he found himself mentally disgusted. Physically, however, Chris leaned into the touch and his brown eyes were so blown out that they appeared black under Wesker’s intense gaze.

Wesker leaned towards Chris and brushed past his cheek, speaking directly into Chris’ ear;

“Rid yourself of your shorts, Christopher.”

It was a suggestion that Chris was truly appalled by. He opened his mouth to voice the disturbance of Wesker’s suggestion, but found his briefs sliding down his hips to rest at his ankles. His heated cheeks darkened and he fought to pull his head from Wesker’s grasp.

“Good boy,” the blond purred and Chris almost _moaned_ at the compliment.

Jill is alive, he thought, keeping himself as grounded to the idea that maybe giving into his bodily needs would quicken his ability to learn more and Chris was sure Wesker wouldn’t get rid of him if Chris was useful.

So, Chris just had to be useful.

“P-Please,” Chris muttered through tight lips.

Wesker’s fingers wrapped gracefully around Chris’ throat, grip strong but not quite choking. Chris was sure Wesker could feel the pounding of his pulse against his fingertips and swallowed against the grip, eyes half lidded and breath heavy.

“What are you possibly asking for?” Wesker asked through gritted teeth.

“Touch me,” Chris’ husky voice came out with a whine that was high pitched and nothing like anything he had ever heard from himself.

Chris could easily claim the words were for show but his now free erection was swollen and throbbing with need. Pre-cum dripped delicately from his tip and he longed to touch it—if just to relieve the pressure-- but his arms felt heavy against his will.

Wesker chuckled darkly in response.

“On your knees,” Wesker stated and Chris fell so fast his cock bobbed between his legs.

Wesker’s hand released Chris’ neck and quickly unzipped himself, his own cock not quite erect as it was released from his pants. The blond’s opposite hand rested on the back of Chris’ head, guiding himself gracefully into Chris’ open mouth.

Chris’ mouth was watering at the presence of Wesker’s cock—not because it was Wesker, obviously, but the grip on the back of his head and the sighing escaping Wesker’s lips were enough to have Chris itching all over. With hallowed cheeks and dark eyes, he sucked at the blond’s dick, coaxing it into the erection Chris’ body longed for. The action was wet and loud, Chris moaning around Wesker’s penis erotically as if the very taste was enough to send Chris over the edge ten times over.

In his current state, maybe it could.

Chris’ lips were swollen and tingling as Wesker pulled his dick from Chris’ mouth allowing Chris’ tongue and lips to focus Wesker’s now erect tip. It wasn’t long until Wesker was holding Chris’ head in place and fucked into his mouth—gagging moans escaping from Chris’ throat that vibrated throughout the both of them.

Wesker pulled his cock from Chris’ lips with a loud pop and his fingers tightened their grip in Chris’ hair, yanking his head back.

“How does it feel to bow at my word, Pet?” Wesker hissed.

Chris gulped but remained silent.

There were no words that could truthfully answer that question in his current state. His body longed for touch, any kind of touch, and he was painfully reminded of that when Wesker’s lips were on his neck and suddenly the sensitive skin there was being bitten and sucked at.

“Speak, Christopher. This is an experiment, after all,” Wesker muttered, tongue trailing its way up to Chris’ ear.

Chris’ groaned at the action and shut his eyes as he spoke.

“I hate this,” he said honestly, “but I need it. I _need_ it,” he repeated, his voice husky and wanton.

“What do you need, Pet?” Wesker asked quietly, lips pressed against the shell of Chris’ ear causing his thighs to quiver beneath him.

Wesker’s free hand carefully traced up Chris’ chest, grazing over his neck ever so slightly, and Chris’ lips parted freely, tongue extending to capture the blond’s fingers. Chris sucked and licked the digits eagerly. The pulsing heat between his legs ached and dripped freely—begging to be touched—and finally, Wesker’s eyes dropped to gaze at Chris’ erection.

A smirk crossed the blond’s lips and Chris released his fingers with a vulgar pop.

Being manhandled in Chris’ state was dizzying. One moment, he’s on his knees with the blond kneeling in front of him and the next, he’s straddling the blond, knees digging even harder into the metallic floor. Wesker’s tongue was on his chest and the brunet’s head fell back, exposing his neck to have a strong thick hand grasp it yet again.

Chris groaned and rolled his hips into Wesker.

Wesker’s wet fingers moistened Chris’ entrance, spit a pitiful lubricant but Chris could barely care. The fingers pressed ever so slightly into him and he ground back against them, hands coming to hold himself on Wesker’s chest. Chris’ hole opened and swallowed Wesker’s fingers with an ease that neither men had expected.

“You will fuck yourself on my cock, do you understand, Christopher?” Wesker asked smoothly and ever so slightly breathless.

Chris nodded in earnest and began to lift from Wesker’s fingers earning his throat a tight squeeze, holding him in place.

“I cannot hear you,” Wesker stated and Chris gulped loudly.

“Yes,” Chris breathed, “Yes, I understand.”

“Speak to me respectfully, Pet,” Wesker encouraged, his grasp on Chris’ throat loosened as he removed his opposite hand’s fingers from Chris.

“Yes, I-I understand, Sir,” Chris muttered through tight lips.

When Chris saw Wesker’s smirk deepen, he knew he could continue—and he did.

One hand fell behind him to line his entrance with Wesker’s cock while the other kept him stable on Wesker’s chest. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he lowered himself on the blond and he was suddenly hissing and moaning through gritted teeth. He waited a long moment after Wesker breached his entrance, hovering and panting. His short hair was stuck to the hairline of his forehead, sweat gathering profusely, as he continued, exhaling slowly and lowering himself until the warm skin of his ass rested on Wesker’s cool thighs.

Wesker followed each movement carefully, red eyes sweeping over the panting, moaning mess Chris was beginning to turn into atop him. Chris longed to move and so he did. His eyes fell closed as he carefully began to grind himself down into the blond, moaning long and loud at the stretch and fullness.

The only sound coming from the blond was quiet, light sighs that ignited Chris. Establishing a steady movement was easy for Chris but maintaining it was an issue. As he lifted away and sheathed himself over and over again, his erection wept and bobbed between his legs distractingly.

Moans and quiet pleadings escaped Chris’ wet lips in such quick succession they were barely audible over his groans and the slapping of skin. Wesker’s dull nails scraped their way from Chris’ neck to Chris’ erection so smooth and slow that Chris didn’t expect it when a hand was suddenly wrapping around his shaft. Chris bucked so hard into the grasp that he lost his rhythm.

Wesker pumped the erection lazily—slow and hard—releasing animalistic noises from Chris and effectively stopping the fucking. Chris leaned forward, both hands grasping at Wesker’s chest aimlessly as his guttural moans overtook his ability to function.

Chris lost himself and could only _moan_ as each brush of Wesker’s fingers across his tip sent wave after wave of pleasure.

Again, being manhandled wasn’t an expected action and his hands were suddenly on either side of Wesker’s head, holding himself up over Wesker’s body. Wesker’s hands gripped Chris’ hips and fucked up into him so hard and quick that Chris saw white. His arms gave out under him and his chest met Wesker’s, winding him when his erection began to rub innocently against Wesker’s stomach with each thrust.

“ _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_ ,” Chris breathed out as he came sudden and hard between them, stripe after stripe of white being lost to their skin brushing.

The electricity flowed through him as the waves of the orgasm fell despite his skin being on fire and his ass still being fucked hard and quick. Wesker thrusted up once, twice, and came, pulling out just as he came over Chris’ ready and willing ass.

Maybe it was the overwhelming exhaustion that drained from Chris or maybe the sudden guilt and disgust but he fell unconscious soon after.

* * *

Waking abruptly for a third time now with a throbbing pain in his lower back was not Chris’ desire but there he was—back in his cell. He lay there for a long moment, hands roaming over his bruised and surely visible marks on his neck. He groaned in exhaust and pain and sat up, still naked.

Luckily, however, his clothes were just beside him on the bed and when his eyes fell on the jail cell door and it was _open_ , he jumped up so fast the sharp pain that sprang inside of him barely bothered him. As quickly as he could, he pulled on his pants and, as he exited the cell, his shirt as well.

Underneath it all, was he ashamed and disgusted? Of course. But he was _alive_ and Jill was _alive_ and as he almost ran straight into Sheva, he found her _alive_ and at that very moment, that’s all he could ask for.


End file.
